Illusion
by paperbkryter
Summary: Lana has an unusual encounter in Paris. Contains spoilers for Covenant and very poor French translation. (Blame Dictionary.com)


It was a tall, narrow house on a relatively quiet street. The top floor studio had a large window that opened up onto a sliver of a balcony, which would have been nice had the view been better. Lana's window looked out into an alley. At one end was a fence, and a dumpster. At the other end was an opening out onto a busy street where cars and people passed throughout the day and night.  
  
It had taken her a long time to get used to the constant noise of the city. For the first week she'd lain in bed at night listening to the rush of cars, the bells of bicycles, and the dulcet tones of people conversing in a language she could not understand. She'd spent the night in Metropolis before, so she knew the sounds of a city. Here, however, far, far away from Kansas, the rhythms were different. Paris was - Paris.  
  
Lana lay in her narrow little bed listening to the sounds that were so unlike her home and for the first time experienced a definite pang of homesickness. At Chloe's house there had also been night sounds; Gabe's television from the room down the hall, the quiet tip-tap of Chloe working on her computer in the room next door, sometimes the muffled thumping of music from a passing car. When she'd moved in with the Sullivans' home Lana experienced a period of adjustment. She would get used the sound of Paris too.  
  
It had taken her a long time to admit that neither place was really what she wanted. In truth she missed the house she'd grown up in, where the night sounds were as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. In the warmer months when she could open her windows upon the countryside, she fell asleep to the song of crickets, and the chirp of little peeper frogs from the pond behind the house. Sound carried well across the fields. Her alarm clock had been the gentle lowing of the Kents' cattle, and the bright crow of the funny black rooster with one leg shorter than the other. Martha Kent called him Weeble.  
  
"Why Weeble?" Lana had once asked Clark.  
  
"He wobbles when he walks, but he doesn't fall down."  
  
Sometimes Lana could hear the Kents' themselves, mostly Clark's parents shouting for him. "Clark, where are you?" or "Clark, can you lend me a hand?" And she would wait, straining to hear Clark's voice with an almost desperate need, feeling something akin to relief when he did holler back: "Coming!"  
  
Clark fell in love with her in the first grade, or so Lana had been told. She wasn't sure when it had happened for her, but it seemed like maybe she'd loved him much longer than she'd thought.  
  
She sat up, rubbing at her eyes with her fingers. It was a cool night and she'd donned her long pajama pants; red plaid flannel that reminded her of Clark. A black tank top finished off her sleepwear. The combination was comfortable. She was tired from a long day of classes and a longer night of working on homework. She should be tired, and she was tired, but sleep wasn't coming.  
  
I want to go home.  
  
Lana stood and stretched before padding over to her window. If she craned her head just so she could almost see the opening of the alley, not that doing so would serve any purpose. A glance at the clock told her it was 1 a.m., still early enough that the little clubs down at the end of the street still entertained their patrons. Snippets of music in the distance told Lana at least one of them had a live band performing. Briefly she thought of pulling on some clothes and going out, but changed her mind. An echo from the recent past flitted through her thoughts.  
  
"Since when do you go to bars?"  
  
She closed her eyes and she could still feel the warmth of Clark's hand around hers, still hear the fast-paced rhythm of the Atlantis' techno dance music, and smell the scents of cheap cologne, cheaper booze, and sweat.  
  
"Do you think it could be MPD?" Lana had asked Lex, shortly after he and Clark had both returned to Smallville the previous summer. "Multiple personality disorder?"  
  
"Somehow," Lex had replied gently. "I don't think that's it." And he'd refused to tell her any more that he himself might have known about Clark's mysterious behavior. Lana had the distinct impression that Clark frustrated Lex just as much as he did her. Why? Lex's interest deepened the mystery.  
  
Speaking of mysteries....  
  
Lana opened her eyes and looked down into the alley. After a moment of searching she found the dark on dark shadow she was looking for standing below a second floor window of the neighboring building. Her heart beat a little faster every time she saw him, for she was mindful of the fact she'd attracted a few stalkers in her time. Yet this tall fellow in the dark coat seemed heedless of her presence, attending to those who passed by the opening of the alley instead. In the days that she'd watched him watching others, he had not once turned his gaze toward her window. Nor had she seen him do anything besides watch people pass. Nobody else seemed to notice him.  
  
Sometimes in the light from a passing car, Lana could get a better look at him, but never a clear view. She simply saw a tall man in dark slacks and a dark jacket with the collar pulled up around his face. He stood leaning against the brick wall of the building next to hers with his hands in his pockets and his face turned toward the road.  
  
Tonight would be the exception to the rule. As she stood near her window, looking out at the mysterious dark stranger, he suddenly turned his head to look up at her. It was as if after all the hours she'd spent watching him, he realized he was being watched. His head turned sharply, his face angling upward toward her. At that precise moment a car, parked near the entrance of the alley, roared into life and its headlights filled the alley with a quick burst of light before it pulled away from the curb.  
  
Lana saw his face, quickly, like one would have sudden clarity in the light of a lightning strike or the bright flash of a strobe. It was an elegantly cut face, handsome, with high cheekbones, full, pouting lips, and large soulful eyes. Thick, dark hair fell in soft curls around his face and over his brow.  
  
"Clark?"  
  
The light faded, and Lana was leaving her room. She had the deep rooted conviction that somehow, against all odds, Clark had followed her and now stood guard beneath her window. Perhaps it was a dream, or just simple folly, but the idea was stuck in her mind so thoroughly she had to make some sort of confirmation.  
  
Madam Charboneau operated a small cafe as well as a boarding house for students attending the art college. The kitchen utilized the big dumpster behind the house, and it was through the kitchen that Lana went. She exited through the back door, pausing to place a small stone on the lintel to keep the door from closing completely and leaving her stranded outside. The man in the alley heard the door, saw Lana, but did not move from his position. Lana approached with caution.  
  
It was clear to her almost immediately that although they shared similar features, the young man standing in the alley was not Clark Kent. He was shorter, and thinner, and his dark hair was slightly longer. His skin was very pale, which made his face seem to float, disjointed, above his dark clothing. When he spoke it was his voice that convinced her utterly that he was not Clark, for it was very low. Nell had once spoken of Lionel's deep voice, but this was not like Lionel Luthor's gravelly purr, nor Lex's more melodic version. This voice was like the slow, languid rumble of a locomotive.  
  
"Bonsoir," he said quietly. "Que vous apporte avale de votre palais élevé dans mon taudis foncé?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
He did not smile, but his head dipped in amusement. "Américain?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ah, well then we'll converse in English, if conversation was your intent."  
  
Lana found herself unsure as to how to take this statement. Her senses, which were sometimes accurate but very often not, weren't picking up any malice from him. Still, she prepared herself to have to kick the hell out of him before running back to the safety of the kitchen door.  
  
"I..." She nodded toward the window. "Saw you from upstairs. I thought you were someone else."  
  
His French had been very good, but his English was better. Clearly he was American, or else very good at language. Lana picked up a slight East Coast accent as he spoke.  
  
"Obviously someone dear, considering the speed of your descent," he said wryly. "I am sorry to disappoint you." Pausing, he withdrew one hand from his coat pocket. "I am Alex, Alex Laurence. And you would be?"  
  
"Lana Lang. I have a friend named Alex, or rather, Lex." Lana refrained from shaking his hand, but nodded in acknowledgment. He put his hand back in his pocket with the same look of amusement on his face she'd seen earlier.  
  
"Not a common name in this century, among the male of the species anyway. I take it your friend is Lex Luthor?" Alex cocked a brow, and his head, as he made his inquiry.  
  
"Yes, how did you...."  
  
"Not many men named Alex, and only one that goes by 'Lex." I know of him. Surely I was not mistaken for Lex Luthor?"  
  
"No," Lana blushed slightly, possibly at the idea of finding Lex 'dear.' He was a friend, and yes, she sometimes had moments wherein she thought he was handsome, but he could never mean as much to her as - someone else. "Another friend."  
  
Alex seemed to find her overall, very amusing. His lips pursed together in a toothless smile, and his eyes brightened. Even in the poor lighting Lana could see that they were not Clark's greenish hazel, but rather a dark brown. Alex was, like Clark, very pretty. The fact Clark didn't understand how attractive he looked was a large part of his appeal and Lana wondered if Alex worked the same way, or if he understood the power he wielded over the opposite sex. Or the same sex. Lana had caught a few of the guys at school with their eyes on Clark too.  
  
"A friend who would hang out in dark alleys in foreign countries?"  
  
Lana chuckled. "You don't know Clark. I wouldn't put it past him. He can be - over protective - especially where I'm concerned."  
  
"That could be rather frightening."  
  
"He's not a stalker." She paused, then added softly, "I know what he isn't, but I'm not quite sure what he is."  
  
Alex actually laughed at this, a low sound deep in his throat reminiscent of her horse's whicker of greeting. "I promise, Lana, that I am not a stalker either, despite appearances to the contrary."  
  
"I wasn't implying."  
  
"I know, but the assumption is logical. I'm a stranger, standing in an alley outside your window." He shrugged. "I like to watch people, but often, people do not like to be watched. Come here."  
  
Lana blinked. The abruptness of his command took her momentarily off guard. Her steps were hesitant, not only because an approach would bring her within grabbing distance, but because she was barefoot. He reached out to her again, offering his hand instead of making a grab for her. The gesture put her a little more at ease, and she allowed him to guide her around the inevitable deposit of broken glass upon the pavement. His hand, she noticed, was cool and dry. His black jacket, where it brushed against her bare arms, was soft. It was made of suede and smelled of leather. It sent another pang of homesickness through her. It reminded her of the tackroom at the barn, where she kept her saddles, and the leather coat Clark had once worn.  
  
All roads lead back to Clark.  
  
"Look," Alex's deep voice rumbled very close to her ear.  
  
She looked, and saw that from his position he could look freely upon one of the larger cafes that stood down and across the street at a bend in the road. Young people gathered around the outdoor tables, talking and drinking. A few puffed upon cigarettes and blue swirls of smoke haloed their heads in the warm yellow glow of streetlamps.  
  
"I can see them," Alex said. "But they cannot see me."  
  
"It looks like a painting."  
  
"And so it does. You have an artist's eye."  
  
"I want to design," Lana said, turning to face him. "Clothes. Everything where I come from is so - bland. I needed to get away. That's why I came here. I want to make a difference, and that's the only way I can. I don't have anything else to offer."  
  
He said nothing for a moment, but stared into her eyes very carefully, as if he were looking for something. "Don't sell yourself short."  
  
Lana shook her head, and a lot of what had been troubling her for so long came bubbling to the surface. It was easier to confide in a stranger. "Chloe, my friend Chloe, she's so gifted. She's a writer. She's smart. Lex is brilliant, and even Clark has something, something he keeps hidden, something that makes him different. I'm not gifted with anything other than the half-way decent ability to doodle and make coffee."  
  
"You're beautiful."  
  
"That hasn't done anyone much good." Lana said bitterly. "Trust me."  
  
"It makes you different, and is no less a gift than what the others possess. Look at their lives, and tell me if they are any better than your own." Alex took a step back from her, respecting her space, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Being different from others, no matter what makes one different, is not an easy thing to be." He cocked his head again. "If your Clark, for example, were not different, would you be here?"  
  
Startled, Lana looked up at him. "No," she whispered. "How did you...."  
  
"I've been a people watcher for a long time, Lana. I know how things work between a man and a woman. I know why they don't work too. You said he keeps things hidden from you. That makes it difficult to establish trust, and trust is a key part of a relationship."  
  
"I keep telling him that."  
  
"And still he does not confide in you?"  
  
"He pushes me further away."  
  
"Then," Alex replied quietly. "Perhaps you aren't giving him enough trust yourself. He's afraid that if you don't accept him as he is now, you never will when and if the secret is revealed."  
  
Lana's stomach began twisting itself up in knots, as it always did when she had to deal with Clark and his secretiveness. Frustration tinged her voice. "But he can't know that! He's making whatever he's hiding into a big deal!"  
  
"What if it really is a big deal? Would you want to know about it then? Maybe you don't love him as much as you think, Lana. Maybe you want him to tell you his secret so that you'll have an excuse to get rid of him."  
  
"No!" Lana said angrily. "I love Clark. I want to be part of his life, but I can't as long as he keeps things from me!"  
  
Alex was shaking his head gently. "Does he love you, Lana?"  
  
"Yes," she nodded with conviction. "I know he does."  
  
"Then you also know the truth, that what he hides from you is dangerous, for if he did not love you, he would reveal it less reluctantly." He leaned a little closer, his low voice dropping to a whisper. "As I said, I've been around a long time, and I know from experience that in many circumstances, ignorance is bliss."  
  
Silence fell between them. From the cafe Lana heard a burst of laughter. A car passed, briefly illuminating Alex's lean form as he stood before her. Her wariness of him returned.  
  
"Do you believe in the paranormal?" he asked suddenly.  
  
Startled, Lana didn't know what to say, and so she said nothing. He mistook her silence for misunderstanding.  
  
"Ghosts and goblins, witches and demons."  
  
"I don't know. I mean, I've seen some weird stuff, but it's because of the meteors."  
  
"Meteors?"  
  
Briefly, Lana sketched out the tale of the Smallville meteor shower, and Chloe's theories about unearthly radiation and its affects on humans. Alex demonstrated a great deal of interest.  
  
"So," he said when she'd finished. "Every incident of the paranormal must have a scientific explanation."  
  
"In my experience, yes."  
  
"And vampires?"  
  
Lana laughed. "There's no such thing as vampires."  
  
"In my experience, there are. Not possessing much in the way of a scientific mind, however, I would be hard pressed to explain the how's and why's of their existence, but I can assure you, Lana, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that vampires do live among us."  
  
Later, Lana would kick herself for engaging in another act of sheer stupidity, trusting instincts she knew tended to embrace danger rather than run very quickly in the opposite direction. Her brain decided, after staring at Alex for a moment in silence, that he was telling her the truth. Not only that, but it also decided that the vampire in question was Alex himself, which caused her instincts of self preservation to change their collective "minds" and have her launch herself back toward the door and safety.  
  
Both brain and instincts forgot about the broken bottle. As she turned to flee, pain burst fiery hot across her right foot. The glass bit deep, slicing the delicate skin across the arch and digging into the weight bearing heel. She yelped, drew her injured leg up, and immediately lost her balance to fall face first to the pavement. But in a heartbeat she was rolling, pushing up from the pavement with arms made strong by her continued instruction in the martial arts, so that should could launch a kick up toward the man who pursued her. The long veil of her hair blurred her vision momentarily but she didn't need to see. She would know if/when her blow connected. It would push him away, and she'd be up and running again.  
  
"THWAP!"  
  
Lana shrieked with pain. She fell back heavily to the pavement, skinning both elbows and momentarily knocking the wind out of herself. A toss of her head cleared her vision, and she looked up to see Alex standing above her, her foot held securely in one hand, while blood from the cut trickled over his pale, white skin. He had stopped her blow in mid arc. He was too strong, and too fast for her to escape him.  
  
His eyes met hers as his tongue slipped between his lips and he casually licked the back of his hand. The taste of her blood made him shudder, and when he smiled, any lingering doubt about what he was fled from her. This time he showed her his teeth, his lips spreading to reveal a set of needle sharp canines.  
  
"Shouldn't waste it," he said softly. Then he knelt, her foot still in his hand, and began wrapping a bandana, which he produced from one pocket, around her cuts to staunch the bleeding. "I take it you changed your mind regarding the existence of vampires?"  
  
"Don't hurt me." Lana pleaded. A rescue from Clark here, and now, wasn't going to be likely.  
  
"Foolish girl, you hurt yourself. You should watch where you're going." He sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you. It is a misconception that vampires are evil. As one is in life, one usually remains in death. There are far more evil humans than there are vampires." With a pat on the top of her foot, he completed his nursing, and stood up, offering her his hand. "Come on, stand up. I'll help you to the door."  
  
When she hesitated, he added:  
  
"Come now, Lana. By your definition of trust, you should have plenty for me. I have, after all, revealed my secret to you."  
  
She carefully took his hand, wincing only slightly as she balanced on her good foot and the toes of the cut one. "Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome." He guided her toward the door with one hand on her elbow as she hobbled along. "So you see it's not so cut and dry, the revelation of secrets and the formation of trust? Let your heart guide you, and your eyes. Is it words or deeds that make Clark who he is? Who I am?"  
  
She shook her head. "Clark...."  
  
Inexplicably she began to cry. Clark would never hurt her. She knew that. Her hurts, the ones she accused Clark of causing, were her own fault. The way to prove Clark's secret wouldn't bother her would not be to demand it of him, but to show him it didn't matter if he told her or not. She loved him, the boy who gave her flowers he picked himself and rescued her from danger even if he stood her up for a date. She even loved the wild side of him, who took her out on a motorcycle, and kissed her so hard it took her breath away.  
  
"I love him. I want to go home," she cried, and out of habits that died hard, she clutched at the closest thing to her for reassurance. She wrapped her arms around Alex and buried her face in the soft suede jacket, heedless of the fact her tears would ruin it. He seemed not to care.  
  
"When we lose one we love," he whispered. "Our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough." His embrace tightened slightly, and then he moved back to look down into her face and wipe away her tears with his fingertips. His touch was cool, and soft against her flushed cheeks. "Maurice Maeterlinck. I met him once, here in Paris just before he died. One advantage to being disgustingly old is one's vast array of celebrity encounters."  
  
Lana laughed a little, the tension in her body relaxing as he produced yet another handkerchief from his pocket. She gestured with it as she wiped her nose. "This should be a tip off. Guys don't carry handkerchiefs anymore."  
  
"Damn, and I thought I'd perfectly assimilated myself into twenty-first century culture. I'll have to lose the chivalry." He smiled again, returning to the closed mouthed smile that hid the threat of his teeth.  
  
"Don't," Lana said softly. "It kinda goes along with the myth."  
  
"Which one? There are a countless number of so-called facts associated with the vampire myth. It would take me a week to tell you the truth of them all."  
  
"The...." Lana blushed. "Seductive lure of the vampire."  
  
"Oh. That." Alex chuckled, grinned, and looked away as if embarrassed. It was a gesture so Clark-like Lana wondered if the myth about vampire psychic abilities wasn't also a fact.  
  
"Is it true?"  
  
"Yes and no. There's something there, but a lot depends on the vampire, and the victim. One can't work with nothing. There has to be an bit of attraction there to build upon or it doesn't work."  
  
"Could you seduce me?"  
  
"Could I, or would I?" he teased.  
  
"Either, both." Lana said recklessly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
For the second time Lana felt him searching her with his eyes, and she then understood exactly what it meant to invite a vampire inside. It was not a reference to anything physical, like one's home, or territory, but something metaphysical. Consciously she tried to open herself to him, allow her mind to reveal its secrets as he had verbally revealed his own to her. She felt nothing different, but saw a change in his expression. It softened. He cupped her face in one hand.  
  
"Does Clark know your secrets?"  
  
"Some of them," she whispered. "A lot of them. I do trust him, Alex."  
  
"I see that, but I also see your fear. Not knowing the man in question, I can't say whether it's justified or not."  
  
"He's left me before. He'll do it again."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not." Alex moved in a little closer. "You miss him now?"  
  
Lana nodded, and raised her head for the kiss. Her eyes closed, and Clark was there with her. He held her close, and kissed her with all the passion he'd held bottled up inside him for so long. She felt his strong hand on the small of her back, lifting her up to meet his greater height. The other hand caressed her shoulders, ran up her neck, tangled itself in her hair. Once he had appeared to her dressed in leather, his demeanor confident and somewhat dangerous. She'd felt the same thrill when she'd kissed him then. The same heat had radiated through her body, coming to rest in a tight tingling knot between her legs, where it rested now.  
  
His mouth left hers, allowing her a quick gasp of breath and a single word, "Clark."  
  
Alex's deep voice brought her back. "How far," he murmured, nuzzling her cheek, "Do you want this to go?"  
  
She was shaking. Her fists tightened on the sleeves of his jacket. "Show me how far you can take it." Her eyes met his. "Show me your secrets."  
  
"Sometimes," he replied. "It's not the one who keeps secrets we need to fear, but rather, the one who reveals them." With a smooth gesture he picked her up off her feet and into his arms. "Do you understand?"  
  
"I'm not afraid."  
  
"You should be."  
  
The blat of the alarm clock startled Lana awake. Her body jerked. Her hand lashed out to stop the strident wail that had roused her from dark dreams. She dreamed of running through a cornfield at night, searching for Clark, who had left home again, this time for good. In her dream she felt a desperate need to find him. If she found him, told him she loved him no matter what, he would not go away. She remembered the terror of bursting out of the dark maze of cornstalks into a dark city street and standing there, dressed in black, his lips bloodied, was Clark. He'd smiled at her, revealing long, sharp fangs. His voice had been low, and ominous.  
  
"What took you so long?"  
  
The alarm had prevented her from screaming.  
  
A soft sound from across the room attracted her attention. A breeze stirred the curtains at her window, fluttering them against the wall. Memory slowly returned to her as one hand strayed toward her bare breasts and the other moved down to pull the sheets around her body. It seemed everywhere he had touched her retained the memory of his unnaturally cool flesh. Her own body had warmed him and that was what had finally made the fantasy complete. He had pulled Clark from her own mind, and cloaked himself in those memories - gave her new ones.  
  
It was not the stranger she'd met who made her feel things she'd never thought she'd feel, entering her body where she'd only ever imagined Clark entering. His kisses were Clark's. His words of comfort and reassurance came from Clark's lips and the body moving against her, inside her, was Clark's body. She cried out Clark's name when he made her come. It was only as she lay dozing in his embrace, as the warmth of his body cooled, and the illusion faded, that she realized what she'd done. Beneath her cheek no heart had beat time with her own.  
  
She curled more tightly around herself. Her hair fell over her face, obscuring the sunlight and bringing back the night. Alex had left her just before dawn, before she began to dream. In the grey pre-morning light she saw how truly inhuman he really was, except for the compassion in his large, dark eyes, and the gentle smile on his face. Human or not, it didn't matter. She'd smiled back at him.  
  
A knock on her door roused her before she could fall back to sleep.  
  
"M'selle. Vous avez un appel téléphonique."  
  
Lana sat up quickly. A call? Who would call her here? Only Nell and Lex had the phone number as far as she knew. "Merci! I'm coming. Oh, uh....oh, never mind."  
  
She scrambled into her discarded pajamas and pulled on a robe for good measure before she burst out of her room and into the hallway where Madam Charboneau stood with the telephone in hand. It was cordless, and Lana retreated to her room again for privacy, wincing as she hobbled along on her sore foot.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
A young, male voice spoke from the other end of the line. She didn't recognize it at first, then realized it was Pete Ross.  
  
"Pete? What's going on?"  
  
Much to her horror, he started to cry.  
  
He found her as she waited for her cab to come. Night had just fallen. He nodded gently and with a small smile, produced a handkerchief when tears threatened to fall.  
  
"Chloe's dead," she managed. "Lex is very ill. It was his father, I'm sure of it."  
  
"So you go?"  
  
"Clark is missing."  
  
"Ah," he said. It was all he said.  
  
Lana looked up at him, wondering how she could have ever fallen under his spell. His resemblance to Clark was superficial at best. She had fallen hard too. After spending hours making her travel arrangements, she'd finally managed to make it into the bath for a shower. It was then that she noticed the bruising upon her shoulder, and the ugly red puncture wounds to either side of her left collarbone. He had not taken, she had given, and lived to tell the tale.  
  
"Thank you," she said.  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Opening my eyes." Lana lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands where they were clenched tightly around the strap of her carry-on bag. "I only hope it's not too late." Raising her head she turned to him once more. "Alex...."  
  
He was gone.  
  
She glanced over her shoulder, into the shadows of the alley beneath her window. She thought she saw movement, a quick flutter of coat tails as he went over the fence, but she could have imagined it. and she had no time to investigate. Her taxi pulled up at the curb.  
  
It was time to go home. 


End file.
